In the conference room upstairs, Fisher crouches down in front of my chair. "Repeat after me," he says.
"Oh, come on."
"Repeat after me: I am a witness. I am not an attorney." Rolling my eyes, I recite, "I am a witness. I am not an attorney." "I will listen to the question, answer the question, and shut up," Fisher continues.
If I were in Fisher's shoes, I would want the same promise from my witness. But I am not in Fisher's shoes. And by the same token, he isn't in mine. "Fisher. Look at me. I am the woman who crossed the line. The one who actually did what any parent would want to do in this horrible situation. Every single person on that jury is looking at me and trying to figure out whether that makes me a monster or a hero." I look down, feeling the sudden prick of tears. "It's something I'm still trying to figure out. I can't tell them why I did it. But I can explain that when Nathaniel's life changes, mine changes. That if Nathaniel never gets over this, then neither will I. And when you look at it that way, sticking to the testimony doesn't seem quite as important, does it?" When Fisher doesn't answer, I reach as far down inside me as I can for whatever confidence has been left behind. "I know what I'm doing," I tell Fisher.
"I'm completely in control."
He shakes his head. "Nina," he sighs, "why do you think I'm so worried?"
"What were you thinking when you woke up the morning of October thirtieth?" Fisher asks me, minutes later.
"That this would be the worst day of my life."
Fisher turns, surprised. After all, we have not rehearsed this. "Why? Father Szyszynski was about to be arraigned."
"Yes. But once he was charged, that speedy trial clock would start ticking. Either they'd bring him to trial or let him go. And that meant Nathaniel would have to get involved again."
"When you arrived at the courthouse, what happened?"
"Thomas LaCroix, the prosecutor, said they were going to try to clear the courtroom because this was such a high-profile case. It meant the arraignment would be delayed."
"What did you do?"
"I told my husband I had to go to the office."
"Did you?"
I shake my head. "I wound up at a gun shop, in the parking lot. I didn't really know how I'd gotten there, but I knew it was a place I was supposed to be."
"What did you do?"
"I went in when the store opened, and I bought a gun."
"And then?"
"I put the gun in my purse and went back to court for the arraignment."
"Did you plan what you were going to do with the gun during the drive?" Fisher asks.
"No. The only thing on my mind was Nathaniel."
Fisher lets this lie for a moment. "What did you do when you arrived at the courthouse?"
"I walked in."
"Did you think about the metal detectors?"
"No, I never do. I just walk around them because I'm a prosecutor. I do it twenty times a day."
"Did you purposefully go around the metal detectors because you were carrying a gun in your purse?"
"At that moment," I answer, "I was not thinking at all."
I am watching the door, just watching the door, and the priest is going to come out of it at any moment.
My head, it's pounding past the words that Caleb says. I have to see him. I can't hear anything but my blood, that buzzing. He will come through that door.
